


Kabobs

by brickinthewall, Maximum124



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amputation, Blood, Dismemberment, Dismemberment Kink, Explicit Language, Gore, Graphic Description of Gangrene, Graphic Dismemberment, Graphic Violence, Impromptu Handjob, M/M, Masochism, Sadism, Unsanitary, porn with a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-12 14:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7110043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brickinthewall/pseuds/brickinthewall, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maximum124/pseuds/Maximum124
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If thy right hand and right leg offend thee,<br/>get someone else to cut it off.</p><p>(First chapter is gore, second is porn; Chapter two has been updated.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pain

**Author's Note:**

> An amazing comic was drawn for the first chapter of this fic on tumblr! You can find it at   
> [ http://zeroafterdark.tumblr.com/post/147158904512/roadhog-dealing-with-junkrats-gangrene-ridden ]

The air inside the tin house was sweltering, still. Beads of sweat rolled down Roadhog’s fat neck and back as sat on a rusty stool, staring down his new boss: a sorry scrap of a man that called himself Junkrat. He sat on the edge of the dirty mattress they now shared, scratching at his bandaged leg. 

Something was wrong with that right leg; the right arm, too. Roadhog had only been hired a few days ago, and not being one for small talk, hadn’t said a word about them. But from the way they were wrapped, the way Junkrat dragged them as he walked, he could tell something was off. Bum limbs, maybe, or paralyzed somehow. 

Flies buzzed somewhere in the back of the shelter, slowly burning to death from the heat. The black nails on Junkrat’s boney fingers dug into his flesh. 

Things were quiet. 

Feeling eyes on him, Junkrat peered over his shoulder to stare back at the bigger man. There was a pause between them, then Junkrat looked away, back down at his leg.

“Oi,” He began, glancing back at Roadhog again, “I don’t suppose you got any doctorin’, do you?” 

Roadhog remained silent, and Junkrat pressed on. “Yeah, didn’t think so. But get a look at this, won’t yah?” He shuffled around the outskirts of the mattress until he was facing the larger man, and displayed the limb proudly. 

“It’s a real doozy.”

The foot was missing three toes, opening up to expose bone; the rest of the leg, all the way up to the thigh, had turned disgusting shades of green and black and red. The rotten leg begrudging clung under a ring of red, inflamed flesh up on his knee. 

Roadhog was silent, taking in the sight. After a few seconds of silence Junkrat laughed wildly, nearing falling back on the mattress. “I told yah! One of those gang members got me with a pipe bomb. I was lucky they just got a few fingers and toes.”

Without a word Roadhog reached to his back, pulling out his machete. Junkrat continued rambling as Roadhog got up off his seat with a strained grunt, blade in hand. Only when he took a step forward did Junkrat stop talking, and lean back on the bed with his good arm.

“Hey-- What do you think you’re doin’?” He asked, eyes widening. 

“It’s infected.” Roadhog rumbled, taking another step closer. 

“I know that!” Junkrat said, scuttering higher up on the mattress.

“You have to cut it off.”

“Well tough shit!” Junkrat snapped. “There ain’t no doctors ‘round here. All of ‘em packed up ‘n left. And I sure as hell ain’t gonna let you do it, if that’s what you’re thinking!”

Normally, he wouldn’t care. Let the idiot be eat up with rot, leave his body out in the desert and let no man alive know where that treasure was. But he he wanted the cut he was promised, and he knew Junkrat wouldn’t give it up even in his dying moments.

Junkrat moved for his frag launcher, but Roadhog was too close. His large hand easily pinned Junkrat to the bed, making the junker screech and writhe in panic.

“Don’t--! Don’t you do it, you sick motherucker!” He screamed, pushing against Roadhog’s rough palm with all his might. “I’ll kill you! I’ll blow you apart!”

His thrashing grated his decaying limbs against the mattress, scraping puss against the already stained bed. Roadhog was grateful his mask filtered out the smell. 

“You’ll die.” Roadhog growled, lifting the machete high over his head. “Stay still.” 

He went for the leg first. Moved his hand so he could steady Junkrat’s lower body-- which Junkrat used to pull himself up and claw and scratch at his arm. 

“Keep still!” He barked. Junkrat wouldn’t listen, still struggling beneath his bodyguard’s grasp. And so when the machete was brought down, right above that ring of red, it didn’t go all the way through. Stopped a fourth of the way, lodged in bone and muscle and nerve.

Oh, how Junkrat screamed.

Roadhog could compare it to those of some of his victims. Just like them, too, Junkrat’s scream died down suddenly, but instead of relinquishing a last breathe he began sobbing. He tried to get out a few words, maybe another plea, but they were unintelligible through his cries.

Blood was already seeping through the mattress, joining the pus and other unexplained stains. Roadhog chopped again, again, and again, blood splattering against the both of them with each swing. Roadhog found it pleasantly cool against his hot skin. Junkrat grew progressively quieter with each chop, his anguished babble giving way to whines and hot, shuddering breaths. His body jerked a few more times against Roadhog’s hand before he finally surrendered, his body going limp beneath him. 

Roadhog took the time to glance up at Junkrat’s face after finally cutting through the leg, watching fat tears leak out of his wide amber eyes and making streaks down his soot covered-face. A rather beautiful sight-- had he not another limb to deal with, Roadhog would have loved to watch it a little longer. He moved on with a grunt, picking up the offending limb and tossing it to the floor before unwrapping the arm.

A similar case: Missing fingers opening a cavity into his hand, gangrene creeping all the way up to his elbow. This time, it would be much easier-- but not nearly as fast. He wanted to take his time with it, as much time as he could. His first blow was intentionally light, only going a few inches below the skin. For that, Junkrat whimpered desperately, his screwed-shut eyes forcing out more hot, salty water. Another chop, this time to the bone marrow, and Junkrat screamed again. Not nearly as loud as the first time, but still just as anguished and pained. 

He decided to saw through the rest. It was easy, with a blade as sharp as his, but clearly not meant to be used that way. As he pushed and sawed down, breaking apart bones and tissue, Junkrat looked him in his masked face, begging, crying, pleading for him to stop. Many sugar-coated words and swears, vows to give him his treasure and vows to murder him on the spot, all in the same breath. Roadhog didn’t give in, and at last had cut through the rest of the arm. He tossed it to the ground, too, letting it join its foul brother. He then put down his now blood-stained machete and reached for his health canister.

Junkrat’s skin had gone unusually pale, a combination of blood loss and fear. His eyes stared unblinking up at the tin roof, weak and ragged breath escaping his parted lips. Roadhog popped the cap off his canister, shoving the tip into his boss’s mouth. The weak breath of nanites choked him, making him cough and spasm again. Roadhog put a hand on his back and lifted him up, keeping the canister tight on his mouth.

“Breathe.” Roadhog instructed him, and this time, Junkrat listened. His uneven breathing slowly became more stable as he continued to inhale. The nanites spread through his body, making the bleeding stop and new skin grow over severed meat and bone. 

Junkrat trembled in his hand, and let out a low whimper when he canister was removed. That, too, was thrown to the floor, before Roadhog sat down on the bed and took the junker into the crook of his arm. As he held him he blinked and whined, squeezing out more hot tears that cleaned his grimy face. Roadhog wiped them away with a calloused thumb, sighing as Junkrat huffed at the gesture. The sun bleached bomber blinked and puffed few more times before licking his cracked lips, taking a breath to speak.

"F… Fuck, mate, I thought you were gonna kill me."

Roadhog didn’t say a word, allowing Junkrat to continue huffing and groaning in his arm. His thin hands moved over his stumps, feeling the smooth skin and absence of weight. The flies were now buzzing over his body parts, tasting the putrid flesh.

Things were quiet again.


	2. Pleasure

Junkrat’s back felt like rubber as he fidgeted and rubbed against Roadhog’s hot, crimson soaked arm, trying to compose himself. There was no saving his image now, he had already lost control-- but he could at least try to pull himself together. His brain was a skipping record, the sight Roadhog bringing his machete down and having him bleed on him playing over and over. The sting of his machete still fresh on his skin, inside of him-- but he didn’t will it away.

Junkrat never considered himself a lover of pain. When he was hurt, he was miserable, and made sure everyone around him knew it, or otherwise suffered alongside him. What Roadhog had done to him, however, was a hurt he had never experienced before. He had felt every hack of the blade as it came down, slicing through flesh and blood and bone in the most disgusting, satisfying way. Though he had begged and begged for him to stop at the time, he never once willed it. 

Entangled in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed the arousal mounting in the front of his shorts until something pressed against it, hard and heavy. He shot up and looked down to find Roadhog’s big hand against it, his mask peering into Junkrat’s face, looking for some sort of reaction.

“Hey-- Cut it out, would yah?!” Junkrat growled, kicking his remaining leg for emphasis. “You’re a guy, aren’t cha? You know these things just ‘appen at weird times!” 

Roadhog dragged his hand off the bulge slowly, making Junkrat huff in annoyance. “Yeah, that’s right. Keep yah hands to yourself, you fruity bastard. You’ve done enough t’me today.”

He flopped back down against Roadhog’s forearm, his already wet shoulders joined with Roadhog’s fresh, warm sweat. A few moments passed between them in silence again, and just as Junkrat closed his eyes, he felt the same pressure against his crotch again. But this time, before he could sit up and defend himself, Roadhog began rubbing against his half hard cock with a single finger, drawing out another huff from his boss.

Pleasure didn’t come easy. Not in Junkertown, not in anywhere in Australia. Roadhog had found contentment in people’s suffering; their screams, their cries, their fear. Never once had he found someone who liked his pain as much as he did. Junkrat was the only person who had ever shown enthusiasm for his cruel acts, but he had chalked it up to the young man’s dangerous, morbid nature. 

Roadhog would have never expected this. This was different. To see Junkrat reel in his destruction, that of his own body...

He liked it. 

Junkrat didn’t fight him. It had done piss-all for him earlier, and it had been a while since he had any kind of sex. Rolling his tongue around the inside of his teeth, he arched his back into Roadhog’s thick fingers, allowing him to stroke and feel the whole length of him. As he became more erect, Roadhog switched to two fingers, allowing the smaller junker to rut and hump against them, grunting and puffing.

It didn’t take long for him to get painfully hard, his tip rubbing uncomfortably against the zipper of his shorts and already leaking pre. Junkrat settled down in Roadhog’s arm again to unzip his pants, letting his member out into the muggy air. Decently sized, Roadhog noted, thin and long like the man himself. He shifted on the mattress with a grunt of his own before trying to pump his boss with the same two fingers, but got a hiss of disatisfaction for his attempt.

“Can’t yah lube up or something first?” Junkrat asked, looking up at him with wild brows furrowed. “Christ, it feels like you’re tryin’ to rub me dick down with sandpaper.”

Roadhog let go of him, glancing around the house for something to use. No running water-- that had become a luxury now-- and he was sure neither of them had ever actually thought to carry lubricant. He thought to use Junkrat’s blood, but it had all already soaked into the mattress. With no other option, he lifted up his mask just enough to expose his mouth, and hacked a thick glob of spit into his palm.

He waited for protest, and when he got none, he pulled his mask down and went back to work. Junkrat giggled manically at the initial sensation and then settled down comfortably, too comfortably, as if a handjob was a mere formality of Roadhog’s job. The larger junker huffed forcefully at his arrogance, and felt his toothy grin deserved a fist against it; but knew that doing so would probably only excite the bastard more. 

He started slow, an ill-timed rhythm of rubbing up and down Junkrat’s length. It was enough to please him, so much so that Junkrat decided to sit up and watch the show. He watched Roadhog’s big, thick hand hungrily, following every movement with his eyes. He huffed and chuckled as Roadhog pumped him, more pre-cum oozing out of his tip. He stayed moderately quiet, up until he almost climaxed; then he rolled his head back, grinning from ear to ear, and misspoke.

“Yeah, that’s it, lil piggy. Keep it up.”

So Roadhog stopped.

“Whuh-- Oh come on!” He said, glaring up at Roadhog. “What the hell’re you doin’?! I’m close, can’t yah tell yah drongo?!” 

Roadhog refused to budge, even when Junkrat tried to push his hand up and down his dick again. At last Junkrat made a frustrated growl, giving up on trying to force him.

“You’re giving me blue balls, mate. What do you want?”

“.....”

“...To beg? I ain’t gonna bloody beg!”

Roadhog began again, painfully slow. Junkrat pretended not to care, at first-- but soon he was aching, hurting for release.

“Alright alright! Let me come, won’t yah? Please, oh please mister ‘hog, let me come!”

He snarled at the obvious sarcasm and pressed the tip of his thumb down hard on Junkrat’s head, making the smaller man buck his hips and yelp.

“Shit!” He yelled, wide eyes looking down at Roadhog’s hand. 

The rough, calloused thumb began rubbing slow, deliberate circles into the head, smearing more pre across the the engorged flesh. Junkrat shuddered with every motion, biting his lip and shutting his eyes as Roadhog teased him longer and longer.

“Ok! Ok… I….” Junkrat swallowed audibly, his wild eyes darting everywhere but Roadhog’s face. “Please…”

“Please what?”

“Please let me cum….”

“Couldn’t hear you, rat.”

“Please! Please, let me cum…” Junkrat begged, his voice on the verge of cracking.

Roadhog laughed, but kept his word. He let up his thumb and with just a few more pumps Junkrat came, franticly grunting and shooting cum across Roadhog’s broad chest and chin. Roadhog continued to stroke him as he orgasmed, drawing out low, pained groans from Junkrat’s bloody, cracked lips. 

He went limp again in his bodyguard’s arms, his head and sweat-drenched hair hanging over the side the Roadhog’s forearm. He lay there for a few minutes, trying to catch his breath. As Roadhog watched air enter and exit Junkrat’s tiny, boney chest, he noted that for a piece of human garbage, he did look oddly handsome.  


Finally Junkrat lifted up his head, a drunken smile plastered on his face and laughter bubbling from his throat.

“Ohhh, I can tell, mate. This is gonna be the start of a bea-u-tiful partnership.”

**Author's Note:**

> Updated chapter two because I felt like I rushed it. Also, special thanks to maximum124 for helping me write this. Couldn't have done it without you, babe ❤


End file.
